


Amare.

by kyaipn



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: AU, Alcohol, Alternate Universe, Daniel Howell - Freeform, Fluff, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, Phil Lester - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-13
Updated: 2018-04-13
Packaged: 2019-04-22 07:52:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14304177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kyaipn/pseuds/kyaipn
Summary: About almost-drunk-hookups, sexuality, fear, and what it is to love.(Also, flowers.)





	Amare.

_"Unable to perceive the shape of you, I find you all around me. Your presence fills my eyes with your love. It humbles my heart, for you are everywhere."_

_\---_

It's loud.

It's too hot and it's too bright and it's _so fucking loud._  
  
Normally, Dan wouldn't be so bothered, but he's been here for two hours now; he's had three glasses of some vodka-infused thing that tastes nothing like proper alcohol, and no one has even so much as glanced his way. Over-crowded rooms aren't supposed to feel this empty.  
  
Honestly, he doesn't know why he's here. This is stupid - he's stupid. And it's too loud, anyway. Warm sweaty bodies pressed against warm sweaty bodies mixed with the unpleasant smell of... something. Something that maybe smells of that toxic-cherry medicine Mum gives you when you're six to help with a fever, and you swear you'll sooner die of a common flu than taste it again. Except you do always end up taking it, really. You're only ever six, and death isn't a concept you've fully danced with yet.  
  
A sharp elbow stabs into Dan's side, he turns.  
  
It's a man, late-twenty-something, older than Dan. He has dirty-blond hair and a bleached smile.  
  
"Oh - shit, sorry." His voice is deep and relaxed.  
  
"It's... fine." Dan mutters, stumbling off, almost too quickly for it to be socially-okay. He doesn't think about it.  
  
He's always liked dirty-blond hair.  
  
*  
  
An hour, another four shots of something sweet, more bright lights.  
  
There's another man, staring right at him. Dan squints, vision tired and half-blurred.  
  
The man has a stupid smile drawn over his face - has longer black hair styled opposite to Dan's. His eyes are almost dropped but not exactly, and Dan might be too drunk to notice anyway.  
  
Dan blinks.  
  
The man is walking towards him, except it's all very turned, not exactly forward. He's mostly drunk too, of course. It is a club on a Saturday night.  
  
"Hi," the man says. He wears black-framed glasses and nice blue-green eyes, Dan notices. Nice and round. All eyes are round, but his are the nicest, maybe. It's been two minutes.  
  
"Hey."  
  
They spend too long staring at each other, wordless, breathless.  
  
"Uh -" Dan finally manages.  
  
He tilts his head, wondering. "My name is Phil?" It's not really meant to be a question, but it comes out that way.  
  
"Mine is Dan." It's polite, anyway. The polite thing to do. His mum would approve of this. Not the way they've been staring for the past five minutes.  
  
"You look nice, Dan." Phil smiles gently, and it's different from every other smile he's see in a lifetime.  
  
"Yeah - you too, yeah."  
  
He's too drunk to be doing this.  
  
Phil's lips do look nice, though, and he can't really find a reason not to.  
  
Half finished thoughts.  
  
Then, suddenly, they're against the wall and Phil is kissing him and, it's not wrong. Actually, it's better than every other kiss - his or another. Phil's lips taste of the nicer-grape-medicine your mum buys; the one that you end up sometimes taking too much of when you're not really that sick. The opposite of toxic-cherry.  
  
Phil has his hand on Dan's waist, and Dan has his hands in Phil's hair, and their bodies are pressed. It's perfect. Phil's lips are rose-pink, and chapped, a bit strangely upturned and beautiful. It is perfect.  
  
Phil is sweeter, tastes better, than every page of the bible. Every man-lie-with-man, every rule his parents may have set after he was found kissing another boy in the school toilets in year nine. He doesn't remember that boy's name. He'll regret this in the morning.  
  
It's blue-green eyes and rose lips and he's known Phil for twenty minutes now.  
  
He can't regret this in the morning.  
  
**  
  
Somehow, they lead each other outside and into a cab.  
  
They're giggling; it doesn't make sense since they've known each other thirty minutes and neither had made any particular jokes. They laugh anyway.  
  
Phil ends up looking at the night sky, through the dirty cab window. His hand is running through Dan's hair as Dan's head is rested on his lap. His fingers are grabbing slightly at Phil's thighs but that doesn't matter.  
  
Dan was supposed to come home with a sweet girl; brown-fox hair and honey eyes. This feels so much better.  
  
*

They end up at Phil's flat, it's on a high-up floor of some brickwork apartment.  
  
Then they're at the lift, down the maze of halls, arm in arm, waist at waist. Phil slides the key in the lock, and they collapse onto each other; onto his lips, onto the old sofa.  
  
There is a perfect view of Manchester city from the window. There's no stars but there are distant-off clouds, it makes the sky look magic. Something of a fairytale. They stare for just a moment.  
  
Dan's breath is on Phil, and Phil is on Dan; the room smells of alcohol and sex that hasn't happened and improbable bad decisions. They're kissing again, it's slow. Dan blinks, because his vision is still slightly blurry.  
  
Phil's hands are on Dan's thighs, on his waist, on his jeans. He's struggling with the zipper.  
  
He pauses, stops, and asks quietly "Wait - do you want this?" His breathing smells of wine.  
  
Dan nods, leaning into him softly. He should think about this just a bit more, with a mind that's clearer in thought, but he doesn't fully want to. The connotations of what all this might mean aren't something he's ready to deal with. Not when he's had that many shots of something sweet and it's two in the morning.  
  
Phil's lips are wet against Dan's neck, and he gasps, giggles. It's a close-eyes-whirly-drunk laugh and it grows and they're both laughing, fuck it. Dan falls into Phil's chest. It's warm and he feels warm.  
  
Eventually, maybe minutes or maybe hours, he finds his way back up to Dan's neck. Both of them are in pants now, bare chest. Dan's is almost covered in deep-red hickies and he can't help but think of how his girlfriend never gave him hickies, and, is this normal? It doesn't matter now. This is his normal. They've known each other two hours.  
  
Phil's hand is tied in his hair, and Dan's fingers are in Phil's. It's soft and he smells like peach-strawberries. His lips are warm against Phil's skin and they find themselves at his cheeks. They both laugh.  
  
"How sexual, cheeky kisses -" Phil mutters into his ear. Maybe they're sobering now, or not. They're giggling and it sounds not-all-that-sober.  
  
Phil is slowly grinding against Dan's leg. Dan is almost returning the action, but neither ends up making their way to the waistline of his pants before they're littering gentle kisses over each other's faces. They're sprawled out all over the sofa, Phil lying comfortably atop Dan.  
  
Phil ends up kissing Dan, carefully, on his lips. It tastes of grapes and honey.  
  
They close their eyes a moment too long.  
  
***

Dan wakes slowly. Headache, mouth tastes dry, his eyes are heavy. His back is aching.  
  
There's a man on the floor next to him, with a sleep-induced grin and unkept hair. He's snoring softly. His name is Phil, Dan remembers.  
  
Dan rubs his eyes, staring, minutes.  
  
Eventually, some of the sleep clears, his logic kicks in, and he's sent into some sorts of panic; because he's in his pants next to another man, and his chest is covered in marks, and he went to a club last night, and his head is aching like bloody hell, and -  
  
"Mm?" A voice interrupts his thoughts. He has tears lining his eyes.  
  
"Fuck off," Dan tells him. It's a first instinct.  
  
"To where?" He chuckles.  
  
Dan stays silent, time goes by. He's not sure what to do. He doesn't even know where his clothes are.  
  
"Are you crying?" Phil asks.  
  
"No." Yes. His voice breaks. His face is also wet, with both snot and tears. Phil can't properly see that.  
  
"Why..?" They're both still tired. Brains are foggy.  
  
Dan shakes his head, standing up. "'M leaving, where's my stuff?"  
  
"On the floor." Phil points.  
  
He reaches for a black t-shirt, and his grey cardigan.  
  
He's got it halfway over his shoulders when Phil adds "I think that's my shirt," in a smaller voice.  
  
Dan's sobbing, again. He doesn't know when he stopped. "Fuck."  
  
Phil raises his gaze, catching Dan's. He still has sleep-sand in his eyes. "Why are you sad?"  
  
"It's just... all this. You."  
  
"Did I do something wrong? Because -"  
  
"Did we, do anything - last night? Does anyone know?"  
  
"We probably kissed, I think. I don't remember," He pauses, "I have a headache, so, I don't really -"  
  
"Fun. Well, I'm going. Can I use the bathroom first? Where is it?"  
  
"To the right, down the hall."  
  
"Thanks." He wipes the mess from his nose against his arm.  
  
"And could you grab me some Advil?"  
  
"What - no, I'm not your fucking wife. We're not married. I don't know you." His tone is dry.  
  
"Okay." There's hurt caught in Phil's voice, hurt that Dan chooses to ignore. Almost.  
  
"I'll get you two."  
  
**  
  
Dan's eyes are red and puffy.  
  
He's spent the past five minutes scrubbing them with cold water and tissue. It doesn't help.  
  
His hair is a mess, curling now, and tangled together. His neck and chest are all covered in red-pink-blue. He has bags under his eyes. He looks hopeless.  
  
There's a knock at the door, "You okay?"  
  
"Yeah." His voice is wrecked.  
  
"Are you sure?"  
  
"Not really."  
  
"Do you want me to make some tea, then?"  
  
"Okay."  
  
"It'll be ten minutes."  
  
*  
  
"Dan, why are you crying?"  
  
They're sitting on Phil's sofa, overlooking Manchester city. The sky is a grey-blue painted mix, smoke inbetween the cracks. It's peaceful, in a strange sort of way. Phil's made them hot breakfast tea with extra cream and honey. If nothing else, it is helping his hangover. Maybe it's just the Advil.  
  
"Dunno," He doesn't really have an answer, not yet. This wasn't a future for him. In every plan he might've made, none of them involved sitting with a strange man on a Manchester morning.  
  
"That's okay."  
  
"Thanks."  
  
***  
  
Later, "I kissed a man."  
  
"Yeah, you did." Phil's voice is sweet, caring, everything Dan needs.  
  
"I'm not - supposed to. I guess I'm not."  
  
"Why not?" He looks genuinely confused.  
  
"Lots of reasons,"  
  
"Name one?"  
  
"Dunno - isn't it a sin? My nan told me that when I was thirteen."  
  
"Do you believe in God?"  
  
"Not fully."  
  
"Does it matter?"  
  
"No,"  
  
The conversation is slow, but it's comforting, somehow.  
  
Dan considers, "It does matter to other people. I don't want - everything else. If I kiss guys, it's a thing, you know? Is that a stupid reason?"  
  
"That's not stupid." Phil smiles.  
  
"And other things - like, humans. And birth. And the legal stuff. And, the sex. There's lots of things at once, and it's so fucking scary, Phil. It could've been simple if I was born different, or if I am different, or normal? It doesn't have to be this way, does it?"  
  
"You could just love someone? Everything complicated aside."  
  
"Mm," Dan pauses a moment. "I guess. Everything aside."  
  
**

Twenty minutes later, Dan is sobbing into Phil's chest. Heavy breaths.  
  
He had a point, somewhere, but now every word that comes out is broken. His breathing is staggered and on the verge of panic.  
  
"H - Help me, Phil, it's -" He's been crying into Phil's shirt, it's probably soaked through at this point.  
  
"It's alright, you're going to be alright." Phil's voice is slightly edged, slightly unknown. Worried and scared and this-isn't-what-a-Sunday-morning-should-be-spent-doing.  
  
"I don't know -" Dan is manging, for the twenty-eighth time that day. He doesn't.  
  
"That's okay."  
  
"Is it?"  
  
*  
  
An hour later, and more hot tea. His headache is gone. His face is less shattered, no longer resembling a long-forgotten china doll. Sitting in a pair of Phil's sweatpants and the black t-shirt, he's a bit warmer.  
  
"Sorry,"  
  
"'S fine."  
  
"This must be the weirdest fucking hookup in the history of hookups." Dan mutters. It's not really a hookup anymore, honestly. It never was.  
  
Phil laughs, "Probably, yeah."  
  
Dan pauses. "I mean, really, sorry."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"This," He gestures to something not concrete.  
  
"It's not a big deal. Shirts can be dried, mugs can be rinsed, medicine restocked. No harm done."  
  
"I've wasted like - a morning at least."  
  
"It's not like I ever have anything better to do."  
  
"But when you're ninety and dying you'll look back and be like 'Damn I wish I didn't waste that many hours on some crybaby-emo. Maybe then I could live to hug my long-lost son goodbye.'"  
  
"I will not! I'll be like 'Wow I sure am glad I at least made that super sweet guy feel okay for a few hours, he was cool.'"  
  
"Oh fuck off, you won't!"  
  
"Will too, wanna bet? A hundred pounds to the grave I don't regret this."  
  
"Deal, you'll see. I'm your last regret."  
  
"Oh, I'm sure, out of all the things I've done you're definitely the worst."  
  
"You said we didn't have sex?" Dan shows a hint of a smirk.  
  
Phil laughs. It's small and hidden, but it's there. "I wasn't lying,"  
  
"I know."  
  
**  
  
"Wanna see something interesting?" Phil asks.  
  
They've been sitting in comfortable silence, watching a new-premire baking show. Phil had warmed up pasta from a few nights earlier, it was rather crunchy but the newly melted cheese made it alright.  
  
"What?"  
  
"Secret."  
  
"Is it something weird? Like, you can stick your tounge in your bellybutton?"  
  
Phil giggles, "No, it's actually cool. It's on the roof, though, that's why I asked."  
  
"Yeah, sure."  
  
***  
  
Phil leads Dan up flights of stairs, in an old door, up another flight of stairs with creeky metal.  
  
"Is this, like, where you're gonna kill me? Because that's what it feels like."  
  
"No! Trust me, okay?"  
  
"What? After exactly twelve hours together? How could I not?" Dan puts a mock hand over his heart. His breath is heavy and forced. Apartment stairs are a newer feat.  
  
Phil rolls his eyes, "You're the one who came home with me, this is all on you, really."  
  
"I was intoxicated, I call bullshit."  
  
"So was I,"  
  
"Well, it's your flat, so whatever."  
  
"Yeah, whatever."  
  
**

It's sunny out now, the clouds are a brighter white. The roof is aging with moss.  
  
"It is interesting, trust me." Phil promises.  
  
He leads Dan to a corner. It's by the vents, blowing hot air. It's all musty.  
  
"Flowers." He says.  
  
There are flowers - pink, purple and orange. They're in small bunches all around the area.  
  
"Wow, amazing, Phil. Truly interesting and cool enough to warrant that many stairs."  
  
"Hey! They are cool! Pretty flowers aren't supposed to grow on roofs of city apartments, right? But here they are."  
  
"I guess it's kinda nice." Dan says.  
  
"It doesn't make sense, right? But they're here."  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"And they always grow here, every spring. I've lived here four years and they're always growing. No matter what."  
  
"Mmm."  
  
"They're Plumeria's. I looked it up, I was curious about them."  
  
Dan isn't sure what Phil is getting at, doesn't care. The warm breeze up here is nice enough on it's own.  
  
Phil pauses, picks one from the bunch, turns back to Dan. He hands it to him. The stem is short.  
  
"When I first moved to Manchester, I was twenty-one. Just out of university, I didn't really know what to do. I knew what I should do, obviously. Everyone knows that. It's not really about that."  
  
"Phil -"  
  
"Shush," He continues, "I could do the easy thing - I took university for english linguistics. I got offered a hiring position in London, full time. It was a good offer. People would respect me, my family would be proud. I would be Phil; super-offical-proffesional-english-person-thing. And that would be really normal and easy."  
  
Dan humours Phil, "And why didn't you?" He holds the Plumeria closer to his chest.  
  
"Didn't want to. Thought I'd have more fun doing a film degree in Manchester, and so I did it. It's been a great time, really. Lots of new friends." Phil glances at Dan's flower, "There's a point here."  
  
"Okay," The Plumeria smells fresh, and wonderful, and sweet. It smells of spring.  
  
"The point is that if you want to make your own move to Manchester - do it. You'll be okay." He grins, "Not, like, literally of course. But you know, if you want to date boys, that's okay. Your family can be wrong, your town can be wrong, the world can be wrong."  
  
"Let me guess, my heart can't be wrong?"  
  
"That, your dick, and me. Of course."  
  
"Pfft, fuck off!" Dan laughs and pushes Phil softly. His chest feels a little bit lighter. He's known Phil thirteen hours.  
  
*  
  
Giggles wear down, clouds pass by, smiles remain.  
  
They lean against the brick, silence. He has a pink-blue flower in his hair now, placed by Phil. The moment is peaceful and hopeful and everything Dan wants in life. Someone, a day, sweet-smelling flowers. Laughter.  
  
"You know what Plumeria's mean? Like in flower meanings 'n stuff?"  
  
"No?"  
  
"They - I looked this up too - they stand for springtime, perfection, starting again. Those sorts of things. Most importantly; a new beginning."

**Author's Note:**

> thank u to my beta (friend) mione for being supportive and also pointing out my basic spelling mistakes. much love xxxxxxxx
> 
> (also this takes place in 2012, but not like the fandoms angsty 2012, and not even our universe. just the same year. it's 2012 dnp when reading tho, lookwise. coughs at dan's old grey cardigan)
> 
> (also also this was written for the 2018 spring fic-fest,,,,)
> 
> tumblr is @phansb


End file.
